Shalador's Lady

met with today had listened—and had offered nothing. Not one indication that they would be willing to accept Kermilla, let alone serve her. And not one spark of interest in meeting her. There was wariness over being seen in her company because Talon had declared her an enemy of the current Queen of Dena Nehele, but there wasn’t any sign of the suppressed interest he’d expected once he’d hinted that Talon’s declaration would no longer apply come spring.
    What was he supposed to do about that? Having the backing of at least some of the Warlord Princes and minor Queens was crucial.
    He riffled through the opened mail. Invitations? Well, he didn’t mind her opening those. Not really. After all, she’d be attending those events with him, so she should have a say in which ones they accepted. But the rest . . .
    Uneasiness rippled through him, a warning that something wasn’t good, wasn’t right. Then Kermilla walked into the study, and the uneasiness was buried under his craving to be with her and use everything he was for her pleasure—whatever that pleasure might be. The uneasiness was buried, but not the anger.
    “Oh, la, Theran,” Kermilla said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t get back in time. There’s a delightful little party later this afternoon that I must attend and—”
    “Why did you open my private correspondence?” He hadn’t realized how much anger he was keeping leashed until he heard the roughness in his voice.
    She stopped moving toward the desk. She lowered her head and looked at him through her lashes while her mouth shifted into its sexy pout. “I was just trying to help. And I wanted to learn. You’re always telling me that I need to learn more about Dena Nehele.”
    “You learn by talking . . .” Listening. “ . . . or asking. Not by violating someone’s privacy.”
    “Violating?” She widened her eyes. “That’s a harsh word. I just looked at a few silly old letters.”
    “No, it’s not a harsh word.” He fanned the stack of letters and the uneasiness returned. *Julien? How many letters did you put on the desk this morning?*
    *Five invitations and seven letters.*
    Theran counted them again, then moved them to make sure nothing was hidden.
    Five invitations—and five letters.
    “What happened to the other two letters, Kermilla?” he asked. Before she could lie to him, he added, “There were seven letters delivered. There are five here now. Where are the other two?”
    “They were very rude.” She enhanced the pout. “I burned them.”
    “You burned letters addressed to me?”
    “They were rude.”
    “I don’t give a damn how rude they were. You had no business reading them, let alone burning them!”
    Her eyes flashed with temper. “Nothing is hidden from a Queen, Prince. Nothing. ”
    A cold fist wrapped around his spine—and squeezed. “Those letters. Who were they from?”
    She tossed her head and said dismissively, “I don’t remember.”
    His temper slipped the leash for a moment and thundered through the room, knocking a painting off the wall and sending several useless porcelain figurines crashing to the floor.
    No color in her face. Fear in her eyes.
    “Who were they from?” he snarled.
    “Ferall and . . . I don’t remember the other name. I don’t!”
    Ferall. Mother Night. He hadn’t expected to get any response from Ferall. He couldn’t ask the man to send the letter again. And outside of being “rude,” which could mean anything, he had no idea what kind of answer he’d been given to his carefully worded inquiries. He knew Ferall wouldn’t serve Kermilla, but he wanted some assurance the other Warlord Prince wouldn’t actively go after Dena Nehele’s new Queen.
    “Don’t do it again,” he said, breaking the seal on Cassidy’s letter. “I don’t give a damn what you think a Queen is entitled to do. Any correspondence addressed to me is private. You don’t open it without my consent. Is that clear?”
    She pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin, the picture of wounded dignity. “Perfectly clear.”
    He began reading Cassidy’s letter. No, not a letter. Some kind of official document that . . .
    “Theran, what about the invitation for this afternoon?” Kermilla asked. “It’s really important that I—”
    “You bitch,” he snarled. “You cold-blooded bitch. ”
    “Theran!” She sounded shocked.
    He rushed out of the study and roared to release some temper. “Julien! My coat!”
    Julien hurried to the